Happy Christmas, Hermione
by B. M. Reed
Summary: The first Christmas following the end of the war; a Ministry Yule Ball, random appearances, a little bit of sadness, and yes, a happy ending. My contribution to The Holiday Season Challenge.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

**AN: **This little one-shot is my contribution to The Holiday Season Challenge, and is dedicated to **Vera Rozalsky**.

The idea that Hermione and Neville stayed at Hogwarts after the battle to rebuild Hogwarts and care for orphaned children is borrowed from Vera Rozalsky's 'Amends, or Truth and Reconciliation'. It was also Vera who pointed out to me that Neville had avenged Snape's death, which I couldn't help but add in.

Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Happy Christmas, Hermione**

* * *

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, completely unsatisfied by what was looking back at her.

Not only did she look, in her opinion, completely frivolous, she was wearing forest green dress robes like a _toujours pur _Slytherin to really seal the deal. She didn't have much choice in the matter; Madam Malkin had made them specifically for her for the event. When Hermione protested at the choice of color, she simply huffed, "Dear, it looks marvelous on you, and that's that." Luna had helped her pile her hair in something she called a 'halo braid'. The effect was rather pretty, but completely out of character for Hermione. Ginny had applied makeup to Hermione's pale face: blush and mascara and sparkly silver eye shadow. Hermione rubbed off the blush as soon as Ginny walked away.

Hermione huffed a little at her reflection.

"This is terrible," she said aloud.

"You're being far too negative, miss," the mirror replied. "You only look as beautiful as you feel."

Hermione shrugged and walked over to the window. Snow was covering the fields that stretched beyond the Burrow; the sun was beginning to set. The world looked sleepy and content, and she saw something move below: a flash of red hair and then following a blur of black. Harry and Ron were having a snowball fight.

Her first reaction was to open the window and yell at them. They had barely twenty minutes before they were to leave for the Ministry. She repressed the urge, though, because this was the first little bit of time off Harry and Ron had had since beginning their Auror training.

This was the first Christmas since the true fall of Voldemort, and everyone was in high spirits. Everyone except for Hermione, that is.

In truth, she'd spent the majority of her time since the end of the war helping to rebuild Hogwarts with the remaining staff, Neville, Luna, and a few others. It was tiring, endless work. The castle had become a refuge for children orphaned and adults with nowhere to go because of Death Eater raids. Hermione was a decorated war veteran now, but she didn't feel it was right to dissolve into some Ministry job given to her because of her status. No, she felt it was the right thing to do to help rebuild the school that had been her second home for so many years.

Neville had completely changed since the end of the war. When Harry, Ron and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to find the Horcrux hidden in the castle, Neville had greeted them with open arms, cuts on his face and with a gallant sort of expression. He knew what he was about, more so than he had ever before, and it showed plainly in the way he spoke.

After the battle, during the funerals, that was when Hermione noticed the change. After the first name was read off, Neville cried, leaning against Luna, the deep sound resonating throughout the vicinity. But it wasn't like back at school when he used to cry because Snape had ridiculed him for one thing or another, no, these were tears shed for the unbearable loss of people that gave their lives up willingly, for a cause they believed in more than life itself. They were the tears of someone who knew that everything was going to change because of the people that had died.

Hermione couldn't help but think how very ironic it was that Neville had killed the snake that killed Snape. Neville had unknowingly avenged the one person who always made him question his worth.

Working closely with Neville every day had opened up Hermione's eyes to something that had been there all along. A genuine, strong person that always stood up for what he believed in, no matter the cost. After almost three seasons of working, walking, talking, and yes, sometimes arguing, Neville became one of the closest people to Hermione's heart whether by accident or fate; she couldn't quite decide.

Another twist of irony: Hermione was the one, this time, to nervously ask Neville to the Ministry's Yule Ball. Neville's usually calm face broke into nothing less than pure joy, and he accepted.

That look was not one that Hermione would forget for the rest of her life, of that she was sure.

* * *

Hermione descended the stairs; it was nearly time to go. If she was being quite honest with herself, she had to admit the only reason she was looking forward to the ball was because of Neville. Christmas time had come, yes, but not to Hogwarts. As decorated as the castle was, it did little to truly cheer the children's hearts. The only time they truly seemed to brighten up was when Neville took them to the greenhouses, to show them some of the more beautiful or interesting plants.

It didn't feel quite right to be going to the ball to drink and eat and dance, while there were so many people spending their first Christmas without the people they loved.

Hermione entered the kitchen, where Harry and Ron sat at the table with steaming cups of tea. All signs of their snowball fight were gone; they were wearing black dress robes and shiny shoes.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron said as soon as he saw her.

Hermione blushed at the unwanted attention. "Really, Ron, you act like you've never seen a girl before."

Ron laughed, although it sounded forced. They had broken up shortly after the war because of conflicting interests. That is to say, Ron wanted someone to clean and cook for him and provide him with certain _favors_ at the end of the day, and Hermione wanted to be with the orphans at the castle. It was really very bitter, at the end, and they had only just started to warm up to each other again.

"I still want to know who you're going to the ball with," he grumbled. "You're being as sketchy as fourth year."

Hermione put on a stiff smile and shook her head. "You'll see."

She didn't have any real reason to hide it from Ron; it was just amusing to annoy him with her silence. She and Neville were going only as friends – at least, that's what she thought at the time. Since Hermione had asked Neville to the ball, though, she had more than once caught him looking at her while they sat in his room at night. After most everyone went to bed, they would often retire to his room to read or talk or just enjoy a cup of wine by the fire. And when she saw him looking at her as of late, his eyes were dark and he appeared to be taking in every detail of her appearance. His gaze was like a caress, and it sent hot waves of nothing less than _desire_ coursing through her veins.

Her reaction wasn't a surprise, not really. She remembers very vividly the first time she became _aware_ of Neville _like that_. It was maybe her third week back at the castle, and summer was in full effect. They were walking slowly around the lake, enjoying the short break from restoring the Gryffindor tower.

Neville had turned very suddenly toward her, and she noticed the sun's angle turned his eyes pale green. His mouth was curved in a soft smile, and Hermione had thought out of nowhere how fanciable he looked, with his dark hair and _yes_, even the scar he carried from the Carrows. She had reached up to touch it, she remembered, and his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

She said, "I'm sorry this happened to you."

Neville had closed his eyes, briefly, but that seemingly insignificant gesture quickened Hermione's heart.

When he opened them, he said, "It was worth it."

* * *

The ball was everything Hermione expected it to be. The decorations, the music, the people. When the three of them walked in, people cheered, and clapped, and rushed up to shake their hands and thank them for what they did. It was a jarring experience because she very rarely went anywhere but Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. Ron and Harry were used to it, because they spent so much time at the Ministry, but even so, she saw their faces color at the sudden onslaught of attention from so many people at once.

And then: time seemed to have stopped. Hermione was trying to get away from the rush of people, when she looked behind the small crowd and saw him. Neville was standing near a table, next to Percy Weasley, drink in hand and smiling that slight smile that was so undeniably _him_. He was looking right at her, and it was that moment when she knew. She was in love with him, and had been since that summer day when they walked around the lake.

She broke the crowd and greeted him, her face rather flushed.

"Neville, Percy," she said, nods to each in turn. Percy was looking between the two with a strange amused expression, and discreetly walked away.

Silence, for a moment. The two of them seemed to be sizing each other up. Neville had gone full Pureblood for the occasion; his dress robes a light silver color with ornately decorated buttons, and she could just see the tips of fine silk slippers. She had to admit that she didn't know the specifics of dressing like a Pureblood male for formal events, but he looked no different than Malfoy did at the Yule Ball in their fourth year.

"You look beautiful, Hermione," Neville finally said. Hermione couldn't help but notice the tone; it wasn't like Ron's, who was surprised, no. It was the tone of someone who didn't expect anything less, as if what he saw all along was singing true.

"I thought I looked rather silly, to be honest," Hermione replied.

Neville shook his head, eyes lit up. "It's perfect."

He took her arm, and they walked to the dance floor, as the band was signaling the first dance. Hermione felt a little nervous – she had never been very good at dancing, but Neville assured her in quiet tones that he would lead her. She noticed how warm his hand was on the small of her back.

And when the band started, Hermione forgot to be nervous. It was far too much fun, and Neville had spoken true – he led her, and rather expertly at that. She was aware of cameras flashing, but she didn't care. She was proud to be here with Neville; _The Daily Prophet_ could make of it what they want.

"Let's get a drink," Neville said after a few songs, and Hermione agreed. She was starting to feel rather dizzy from the excitement and needed a bit of a sit-down. They joined a table with Luna, who was sitting next to Dean and smiling her serene smile.

"It's beautiful here," Luna said, the lights from the candles and Christmas decorations reflecting in her eyes.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "Although it's a shame not everyone was invited."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Neville's face turned toward her. Hermione shifted a little in her seat. She wanted to talk to Neville about those darkening looks and the meaning behind them, but she supposed the conversation would have to wait. As newly minted political figures, they had to stay the duration of the ball.

"Did you try that champagne yet?" Dean asked, his brown eyes flicking between Hermione and Neville. "I hear it's goblin made."

Hermione tilted her head a little in puzzlement. She had never heard of goblins making anything other than weaponry.

"I wasn't aware goblins made champagne," Hermione said.

"It's rather rare, but they were feeling in good spirits with the fall of Voldemort," Dean said. "It's supposed to bring luck and happiness to those who drink it."

Hermione eyed the platter before them; it was empty when they sat down but now four delicately stemmed champagne flutes had appeared on it. They each took this as an unspoken agreement to take one, and Neville raised his glass in a toast.

"Then…to peace, luck, and happiness."

Hermione couldn't ignore that while Neville spoke in general terms, his eyes were on her when he said that. Another unspoken agreement seemed to pass between them: something would happen, and soon.

* * *

After midnight had struck, it was finally time to go. Hermione ended up having a much better time than she thought she would. Each time she and Neville had taken the dance floor, they had, perhaps unknowingly on his part but very purposefully on hers, drawn closer and closer, until she was able to feel his heat creeping into her being. They hadn't spoken very much, no – there was no need when his facial expressions had been enough. He wanted her, maybe even more than she wanted him.

Harry and Ron were standing by the floo, waiting for Hermione to say goodbye to Neville.

Neville grabbed her arm some ten feet or so from Harry and Ron, and said, "Come back to Hogwarts with me."

Hermione didn't know what to say at first – Neville was usually never so forward, and the flush on his cheeks conveyed what he hadn't said out loud. He didn't want her to go back with him to merely _talk_.

"Yes," was all Hermione said, and she turned to tell Harry and Ron to go without her.

"Ready to go?" Ron asked her, a sour look on his face. He hadn't been happy to see that Neville was her date, but he held his tongue because they were very much _broken up_.

"Actually…I have some things that need to be done at Hogwarts and I'll be going back with Neville."

"What could possibly need to be done that can't wait until after Boxing Day?"Ron asked, and rather rudely too. He was looking from Hermione to Neville who stood some paces behind her.

"There _are_ orphans at Hogwarts, Ronald, who don't want to be alone at Christmas." Hermione felt a little guilty to be using the orphans as a guilt trip, when she had a feeling she wouldn't be spending any time with them until the next morning. But to say, "I think Neville wants to make a declaration and spend the night in my arms" would be a little too much information and would only make Ron angrier.

"Whatever, have fun," was Ron's reply, and Harry nodded to Hermione and wished both her and Neville a happy Christmas before stepping into the floo.

She turned to Neville, smiling a little nervously. He stepped forward and they, too, disappeared into the inky green flames.

* * *

Hogwarts was positively picturesque: the castle was illuminated and the snowfall was lying delicately on the ground. The night was cold and crisp and Hermione's breath came out in smoky puffs. They were walking toward the castle from Hogsmeade arm-in-arm; they didn't cast a warming charm but Neville's warm presence rendered it unnecessary in Hermione's mind.

"It's beautiful here," she said suddenly, echoing Luna's sentiments about the Ministry ball. The castle had such a different quality to it than any other place she had ever been.

"It really is," Neville said. Anything beyond that small agreement would be redundant given the reverential look on his face when he regarded the scene: the castle, the lake, the stars. And then when he looked at her, the expression didn't change.

When they reached his room, they were both thoroughly cold and red-faced. He waved his wand and the fire magically burst to life as if it had been burning for hours. He poured them both a glass of firewhiskey and they clinked glasses.

Hermione took some of the potent beverage; it burned her throat and warmed her body immensely. She realized they were both still in full formal regalia and couldn't help but grin a little. It contrasted sharply to the image she always had in these rooms, where the both of them would curl up on the couch in Muggle clothes or pajamas.

"It was fun tonight," Hermione said. "Thank you for being my partner."

Neville was staring into the golden liquid in his glass, swirling it around and around, she was watching the movement a little apprehensively. His gaze had darkened again and she knew whatever was on his mind, it wasn't small talk. His eyes flicked up and met hers.

"Come here," she said suddenly, abandoning it all.

It was spoken like a command, but had the weight of a question, too. She watched Neville draw the rest of the drink in his glass, no change in his expression when he swallowed. He set the glass down, and walked toward her, stopping only when he was about two feet away.

_Too much distance_, she thought, but instead of being dissuaded, she stepped even closer, and watched his dark expression grow darker still: his breath hitched and he looked like he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

Hermione was at a crossroad: she wasn't this brash, not usually. His presence before her, so strong in body, and even more so in personality, was becoming her undoing. With a slightly shaking hand she reached up to place her hand where his heart was.

"You're the bravest person I know," she said rather randomly. Five years ago this comment would have make Neville look down at his feet and stammer. But now they stood on even ground, and he put a hand over hers, grasping it tightly. She relished in the warmness that she had come to know as nothing less than who he was. Neville was warm, and unmoving, and resolutely solid – a comfort.

"You're just as brave as I am," Neville replied, softly.

She didn't feel particularly brave, not now. Not when what she really wanted to do was close the distance between them completely but she found she didn't have the nerve. She lowered her hand and saw the flicker of disappointment. Hermione finished her drink, and set it down on the table next to her.

It was when Neville bit his lip that gave her the sudden surge of adrenaline. She grabbed his dress robes with both of her fists and pulled him down, low enough to kiss him chastely on the mouth.

She let go and pulled back a little. If this wasn't what he wanted, and she had read the signs completely wrong, then she could say she was just wishing him a happy Christmas. But she saw his eyes: pupils dilated, and heard his breath release, long and slow.

Her body responded to that minimal confirmation, and strongly. Then Neville brushed the back of his hand ever so lightly over her face, to really seal the deal for her. This was what he wanted, and it wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

He bent down slightly and his lips brushed over hers, as if asking permission for access. She tilted her face to kiss him properly, her breath was becoming erratic. Her kisses trailed from his neck to his jaw, down his neck and up again. She was running her hands through his hair, which she found surprisingly silky. Hermione's hands wandered down his back, and without thinking, she pushed him forward against her.

"Hermione – oh God," Neville whispered, a sort of strangled sound. Out of context it would have sounded like denial, but here it only fueled the flame burning within her.

"You're wearing far too much," Hermione said into his neck. His scent was intoxicating, it was completely overwhelming her senses. She needed him, and couldn't think of anything else but how it would feel to finally have him.

So, slowly, almost achingly, she unbuttoned every single button on his dress robes, by hand. He was watching her, his chest moving up and down, an almost audible sight – she could feel his anticipation. He wasn't looking at her like Ron had when this happened, that moment before the clothes came off but he knew what was going to happen. Ron had expected it, but Neville was taking it in as some sort of exotic delectable; something to be savored and cherished.

This brought tears to Hermione's eyes; it was such a contrast by comparison. Neville looked at her in alarm, ever ready to abandon his pleasure for Hermione's comfort. Such a gentleman, in comparison to Ron.

"We don't have to do this," Neville said quickly, once more putting his hands over hers, which were preparing to take off his robes.

"I _want_ this," Hermione replied, smiling through her tears. "I want _you_." And she pushed his robes off, they slid down his arms and fell to the floor. "I love you, Neville."

More kisses, not chaste anymore; Hermione learned that Neville was surprisingly good at this and when he began to undo her robes, she began to shake. He faltered a little, but she kept kissing him, unbuttoning his underrobe, whispering through the kisses, "I want you, I want you, _only you_."

She wasn't sure how they ended up on his bed, but once they were, all of their clothes were strewn across the floor. He was drinking in the image of her naked body like the glass of firewhiskey. Hermione trailed her hands from his clavicle to this stomach, up his arms and around his neck. His skin was surprisingly soft for a male's.

Up until that point, he had only been gripping her shoulders of the small of her back, with slightly shaking hands. She kissed him on the chest and rose up slightly. Hermione took his hand and placed it on her breast, and Neville made a soft sound between a moan and a cry.

"Oh my God," he whispered.

With this, Neville began exploring her body, slowly at first. They weren't kissing anymore, only touching; Hermione thought this had to be the most sensual thing she'd ever experienced. The buildup was delicious and tantalizing; he hadn't even touched her in the obvious spot, yet, but she felt the waves building up regardless.

When he finally did touch her there, it only took about thirty seconds to push Hermione over the edge. Her hips were arched and taking on a rhythm of their own; she had lost control of her body. And when she cried out, the sound echoed throughout the room.

When the last of the waves had subsided, Hermione opened her eyes and look at Neville, who was watching her with an expression she couldn't name; it was beyond words.

"Please," she said. "Please take me."

He licked his lips, frozen in place for a moment. But then, he was before her, on his knees and settling in between her legs. Neville's eyes never left hers, not even when she guided him into place.

There was no way to describe the initial entry; that fullness and completion. Hermione couldn't close her eyes, no. She wanted to see him. She wanted to watch his pleasure dance around his face. As he moved, the noises he made weren't simply moans anymore: they were a song, and it was only for her.

It was too much. She felt those waves building up again; and lost herself entirely in their hold. She dug her fingers into his back and pulled him down so all she could feel was his skin, his movement, his breath. Hermione finished with a song of her own, breathing in his ear, biting his shoulder.

"Come for me," she gasped. "I want to hear you come."

With these words, she felt his pace quicken, his hand grazing her face. He lifted his head and their eyes locked; the intensity as loud as a firework, yet as soft as his caress.

"God, I-"

Whatever Neville wanted to say, he couldn't. She felt his shudder, and he cried out, his last thrusts hard and deep inside her.

He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, breaths coming out in short bursts on her neck. Hermione rubbed his back while his shivers subsided, the warm afterglow of her pleasure making her feel soft and sleepy.

When he finally lifted his head up, he had tears in his eyes. He gingerly pulled himself out of her and lay down; he was staring at her with such satisfaction and adoration she suddenly felt tears prickling her eyes, too.

Neville wrapped his arms around her, and she felt sleep claiming her as one of its own.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

* * *

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